


Dirtiest White Boy In America

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: Take my hand--Take My Whole life too [45]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Mornings, Pancakes, Teasing, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Usual morning in the Gallagher house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 02:34:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3919615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anon prompt: Could you write about Ian up cooking breakfast one morning and Mickey coming downstairs and wrapping his arms around his waist from behind him and then they're still being all cutesy when the rest of the gallaghers come down and they tease them and stuff??" </p><p>And</p><p>Anon asked : Gallavich prompt: Ian and mickey getting teased for pda by the gallaghers/balls</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirtiest White Boy In America

**Author's Note:**

> Thought this was so so so cute ok
> 
> Mickey is purely a grump

Mickey wakes up to the fresh smell of pancakes, his nose turning up in a pleasurable manner. Cramped in the small space of Ian's single bed, he turns from his position facing the wall to see that Ian was already out of bed. That didn't surprise him. Ian had this principle that waking up earlier makes the day better. Bullshit if Mickey had a say in it. Grumpily, he swats the sheets, rubbing at his eyes as the sun began to burn his eyes as the rays shone through the cracked blinds.

Slowly, he pulls himself out of the bed, grabbing a pair of Ian's sweats from the cluttered floor. Pulling them on, he rubs a hand through his hair, taking the bottle of Ian's pills off the side and pouring them into his hand. Once he's counted, he lets out a sigh of relief when he knows Ian's taken his pills that day. It took a while, but he finally could trust Ian with controlling his own medication. Walking out the room, he's hit with the loud noise of the moving Gallagher house.

Things would never get quiet; he had to keep telling himself that.

Storming down the stairs, the sweat still clinging to his chest, he walks through into the kitchen. Ian's leaning over the counter, grabbing the bowl full of pancake mix. There's flour in his hair, smeared across his cheek, there's even hand marks smacked at his sides. Ian quietly hums a tune to himself, moving around the kitchen effortlessly, gliding against the floor as he reaches for a spoon. In the middle of the kitchen table there's a plate full of bacon, a tray of eggs and couple of pieces of toast, waiting for the morning routine to mess its display.

Ian hasn't noticed Mickey yet, his back still turned as he pours the mix into the pan, grabbing the slightly bent spatula from the counter. It's a sight he couldn't get rid of, he didn't  _ want  _ to get rid of. A bare-chested Ian, covered in flour, swaying to a tune that didn't exist as he tried miserably to flip a failed pancake against the pan. It's a heat of the moment thing, his body not thinking, he walks forward and slides his hands around Ian's waist, pulling him closer to his chest. 

“Holy shit.” Ian flinches, before relaxing back into the hold, his lips curling up into a smug smile.

“Morning Gallagher.” Mickey rusks out huskily, kissing at the top of Ian's shoulder, his arms squeezing around his waist.

Ian hummed against the embrace, still batching up the pancakes in the pan, supplying plates against the counter as Mickey clung to him tightly. Just as he turned his head, kissing Mickey softly against the lip, the stampede rumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“God, get a fucking room.” Carl groans as he jumps the last step, dumping his bag against the kitchen table.

Mickey tries and shoots the kid a glare through the mesh of Ian's shoulder. There was no such thing as fucking privacy. 

“We have one. You just happen to sleep in it.” Ian calls back, shoving a pile of made pancakes onto the plate. Carl rushes over, grabbing more than he could chew, jumping onto the open chair at the table. “You don't need to tell me what I already know.” Carl speaks pointedly.

Lip piles down the stairs, Liam whisked in his arms, a coat slung over his shoulder. “Jesus, did someone swap Mickey for a serious-cling on?” He arches his brow towards the two, gesturing towards the couple huddled together in the kitchen.

“Fuck off. I can do what I want, man.” Mickey flips the curly-haired Gallagher off, not unwrapping his arms from around Ian. He would not fall into the trap of Lip's prickworthy pressure. “You better be fucking glad we ain't fucking in your room.”

Ian snorts, already reminiscing a week prior when they did exactly that. Not like Lip _actually_ knew that information. Lip splutters on his food, coughing up the tickle in his throat. “Man, you might as well. Those walls are paper fucking thin.” 

“Yeah, we hear  _ everything.”  _ Debbie groans as she troops down the stairs, hair all done up, blouse slightly open in a revealing manner. “Hey, Ian, did you make me pancakes?” 

“Course Debs.”

Mickey wants to leave, like run for the hills, but Ian's skin is so soft against his, the heat radiating off of him like a comfort blanket. He sends glares towards the Gallagher's, arms stopping Ian from doing hardly anything. Ian gasps, pushing himself forward a little, “I need to fucking breathe, Mick.”

“Yeah, let the man breathe.” Fiona laughs from the stairs, an emotional but softened look against her face as she admired the two, almost memorised. She walks through, chucking a coat against her shoulders. “Debbie, take Liam today-”

“I do everyday-”

Fiona cuts her off, going around the table. “Carl, don't pull any shit today. Lip have a good day at college. Ian, what you up to today?” She asks, leaning against the counter, eyes wandering over the unusual embrace of Mickey around her brother.

“Nothing proactive.” Ian answers quickly, turning in Mickey's hold and dragging him close to his side, flipping Lip off in the distance.

“Well, definitely _active,”_ Mickey interjects, smirk hanging on his lips as his eyebrow ached against his forehead. There was no doubt that they would take typical advantage of the house when they were alone. It was reasonable. It was smart. It was right.

Lip buts in, pulling a face, “You better not fuck in my bed, _or_ my room.”

“Too late.” Ian strains, tilting his head smugly, but enchaining his guilt with his puppy-dog eyes. Lip looks like he might puke, or pass out, but instead he grunts around his pancakes, shooting glares in the boys direction. Fucking loser.

There's a slam of the front door, a loud voice echoing through the house; thank god it wasn't Frank. “Jesus.” Ian and Mickey turn to the voice just beside them, It's Kevin. “Can you take your happiness elsewhere.” He dodges a kick from Mickey, pulling out a chair for Veronica who had the twins held up in her arms.

Veronica frowns, taking in the embrace, “Is this PDA fucking central, why is the dirtiest white boy in America bear hugging Ian?” she laughs excessively, earning a playful shoulder smack off Fiona as she sat down. Mickey flips them off, scrunching up his face, “Fuck off the lot of you.”

“He's definitely the _dirtiest.”_ Ian involves himself in the parade, bursting into laughter when the whole room erupted with gips and “for fucks sakes”. Mickey bites his shoulder, sending a swift knee into his ass. “Right that's it, fuck you-” Mickey lets go, pointing towards the table, the Gallagher's and Balls are left unaffected, “Fuck you-” he directly points to Lip, well – because it's Lip, and then he rounds Ian – who's face is red with laughing. “And I ain't fucking you later.”

Just as he runs for the stairs, ready to rid of the irritating and embarrassment of the others, Lip calls over his shoulder, “Nah, Ian's the one that does the fucking.”

“Wait? Mickey's a bottom?” Kevin interjects, shouting the grand news as loud as he could, voice filled with amusement and shock, earning Carl to ask the ultimate question, “What's a bottom, is that where the dick goes?” The whole house groans, Ian's tiny giggle poking through the thin layer of Gallagher-Ball mixed mumbles.

Mickey wants to die, like really die, but instead sends Ian a glare for telling the whole crowd what he likes – who just shrugs and laughs along at his misfortune. They all burst into fits, laughing towards him, it's literally ridiculous.


End file.
